


The Right Choice

by samzillastomps



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Erections, Alistair POV, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Sleeping Side by Side, Yearning, it's a long one shot because when can I ever write anything concisely, like damn Sami, some discomfort too tbh, someone's catching feels, switching my third person perspective from my cinnamage to my rosy warrior, very very obviously, virginal alistair, wanting to protect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps
Summary: I realized I was writing a lot without taking into account Alistair's perspective. While that will make the slowburny marshmallowy goodness even sweeter in the next chapter of DD&D... I dunno, I feel like this isn't too bad an addition either.Ask and ye shall receive haha ^^





	The Right Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [every single sweetheart who comments so often and so kindly on my junk](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=every+single+sweetheart+who+comments+so+often+and+so+kindly+on+my+junk).
  * Inspired by [Dignity, Devotion, and Darkspawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101194) by [samzillastomps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/pseuds/samzillastomps). 



> I realized I was writing a lot without taking into account Alistair's perspective. While that will make the slowburny marshmallowy goodness even sweeter in the next chapter of DD&D... I dunno, I feel like this isn't too bad an addition either.
> 
> Ask and ye shall receive haha ^^

He’d mucked it up. Alistair wasn’t sure how, exactly, but he was positive that he had. Maybe in the way that he’d offered her protection, when she obviously knew how to take care of herself? Or perhaps the way he’d asked her about mages and Templars in the library? She’d kissed his cheek, yes, but Eilwyn seemed the type to do that with her friends. Maybe she’d done it to shut him up.

_Ugh, big fool no words good, indeed. Why is my timing so shite?_

Alistair grit his teeth and slammed his shield down to deflect the blow raining onto him from above. He heard a cry, and he didn’t need to understand it to catch its meaning. It was familiar to him, as familiar as the feel of his shield on his arm. He ducked just as Leliana volleyed three consecutive flaming arrows over his head, and he rolled to the side of his shield in order to bring it up to block immediately after.

He had to have mucked it, though, right? For her to be so stoic? The only other alternative explanation for her disquiet was that Eilwyn was close to her breaking point and that… that, he didn’t even want to consider.

_Hate seeing her like that. Hate hearing her beg. Wish I could have said more._

Well, if her sadness was good for anything, it was damn fine inspiration for him. Alistair couldn’t explain it, but whenever her lips parted like that, like her words were caught just at her teeth as her brow knit together all sad-like? It made him want to tear through a canticle scroll with his bare hands. It made him want to punch a tree, to just hit things.

Which was perfect, at a time like this, when there were plenty of things to hit.

Alistair continued to throw himself full force against the abominations, controlling the field so that Eilwyn could focus on the litany and Uldred himself. He’d fought few scarier things than mutated, rotten corpses. He would rather have blightwolves, or maybe bears. Yes, bears would be a good change, they should seek out some bears next. He’d make sure Eilwyn didn’t get smacked with one this time.

Suddenly, in the middle of his bear-reflections, Alistair could feel warmth and cottony static in his veins. For a moment, the exhaustion lifted and he almost yelled with invigoration. He knew that Eilwyn had slipped a barrier about him, his favorite one. The one that brought back all of his stamina in one quick burst, the one that made him feel like he could conquer mountains.

_Don’t ask me how I know it’s not Wynne’s… but it’s not. It’s hers. Her magic just feels different._

_Like the way fireflies look, I don’t know. But that’s what it is._

Glancing backwards, he sought eye contact, that little smirk Eilwyn got when she knew she’d done right by him. She always did that, this cute little ‘ha ha’ when she’d cast a spell particularly well. It was almost unconscious, and it made his nerves flutter excitedly every time he caught her in the act. As if he knew this little secret about her, knew her better because of it. Alistair swung with his shield, turning, and-

Nothing.

Eilwyn’s hands were stretched high above her, the remnants of the spell she’d cast on him still on her fingertips. But she wasn’t even looking at him. She was staring in fury at Uldred, her lips streaked with blood he prayed was not her own.

Alistair turned, refocusing himself. The barrier would only last for so long. He had no time to waste, and feeling disappointed didn’t very much inspire him to hit things. He gave a throaty roar, channeling all of his energy, and jumped back into the fray.

* * *

It was becoming hard to watch.

Well, _becoming_ wasn’t really the right word so much as _continued to be, ever since we got into the bloody tower_ , if he was being honest. Eilwyn, the bright, sunshiney, pink-cheeked Eilwyn was… not moping, exactly. Moping had the connotation of hunched shoulders, pouty lips, that kind of thing. Eilwyn was holding her shoulders back, was making eye contact with those around her, and she had responded to Irving with a lot of poise. Even though she still had blood on her face, it had been tactful and respectful.

But Alistair could tell that she wasn’t happy.

She normally fidgeted with her hair, and she would do this thing... it was hard to explain. She would do this thing where she would look absolutely  _primed_ for conversation. Sometimes she would ask questions, hinting that she wanted something explained or asking outright for a story. Other times, she would just wait. She'd watch, laughing at her friends, looking from Leliana to Morrigan, back to Leliana again. Just contentedly observing it all with light in her eyes.

Right now, she was just... still. Quiet. Like a wall was up between herself and the world, and it was dulling everything about her while she licked her wounds. The absence of her eagerness was so noticeable that everyone kind of retreated into themselves. Sure, they were all tired, but Alistair knew her mood had affected them as well as him.

_Should… should I say something? Is there even something to say?_

Alistair had hugged her before, and she’d stopped crying then. Back in the library, right? She'd been so overwhelmed and he'd hugged her because Maker, it was so hard not to when she looked so hurt.

But she wasn’t crying now, so was it the thing to do?

No, maybe not. She didn't seem like she wanted to be touched. She'd just shrugged off Wynne's hand on her shoulder, and that wasn't a good sign. Maybe a joke? He’d played with her and made her laugh after they escaped the Fade, and that was good. She had smiled at him, and yes she’d looked tired, but her eyes had still held that spark. The spark of intelligence and purpose. He liked that about her the most.

But now…

_Her eye color looks duller, even. She just isn’t there. Hasn't been there since before the Harrowing Chamber._

Alistair’s hands clenched at the memory. The way that man, that _Cullen_ , had talked to her… it made his blood feel too heavy for his limbs. Made him feel panicked and calm at once, like he was incredibly drunk and also had taken a regenerative tincture to sharpen his mind at the same time. Not pleasant, not pleasant at all.

_I should’ve taken her away from there. Guided her up the steps, told that Cullen to shove it. He was delirious, panicked, hurt… she took everything he said as gospel and I should have stopped it…_

But he knew if he had stepped in, it wouldn’t have given her… whatever it was that she needed. He understood a need for closure. Not having a proper goodbye with Duncan, or vengeance, or a say in absolutely anything, that ate at Alistair every single day. If he'd had an ending, it would have been easier. He couldn’t deprive Eilwyn of hers, no matter how painful it was to watch.

_Had to be ten times as painful to say._

Alistair held his head between his knees for a minute as they all seated themselves in the boat, and he let out a long breath.

_But maybe I should have stepped in anyway?_

_I don’t know…_

He wasn’t sure, but he felt like maybe that was the muck-up. That, right there, was his mistake. He’d let that Cullen arse talk to Eilwyn so long that a part of her might even have started to believe the man. She might still be thinking that it was her fault in some way that the Circle fell. Or that mages were all dangerous, untrustworthy things. Or that Eilwyn herself was not worth time and affection simply because she was a mage.

_Like he even knows Eilwyn enough to comment on her!_

A surge of strange jealousy overtook him, then. A wave of possessiveness that felt unfamiliar in its rawness, so much so that it surprised him and made him feel a bit sick. He wasn’t the jealous type. Least, he thought he wasn’t.

But Alistair had seen Eilwyn at far more true moments than a Templar saw a mage, that he knew with absolute certainty. Sure, she was the type of mage that the Order had warned him to watch out for. She was so clever, so creative, that she never stopped surprising him. But Eilwyn was so much more than any one part of herself. To hear a Templar, one she had looked up to, reduce her to being an _evil thing_ …

It made his blood run cold. The injustice of it made Alistair feel more than anger, something colder, something that ran deeper within his core than mere anger.

Eilwyn was the one person who should be spared all lectures, in his opinion. He was hard pressed to think of someone more empathetic, or playful, or fun. In fact, if more people would just try to be a little bit like Eilwyn, the world would be a kinder place.

Alistair's face felt sore. He raised his eyebrows, trying to relax away the scowl that had set on his facial features since he started mulling all of this over.

On top of that, she was always doing something. She could sew, pitch her own tent, and set wards that wouldn’t harm innocent animals around the camp. She knew how to swim, and also how to shoot arrows, even though she was not as good as a trained archer. She didn’t like sweets, but she loved tea. And she had strange little habits that just reinforced her goodness, in so many ways!

Like, for example, one particular habit of hers came to Alistair’s mind. Eilwyn tended to smile to herself at odd moments when they were walking through the woods. When Alistair asked her why one day, she said that it was because she practiced conversations in her head. Just to make sure she said the right thing, should it ever come up.

“Does that mean you have to practice your facial expressions as well?” he’d asked her.

Eilwyn had laughed.

_She’d looked so happy. So shocked that I would even ask._

“No!” she had chuckled, pushing his shoulder hard enough to throw him a bit off balance. She had looked off wistfully at the green leaves in the tree branches above her, at the last remnants of summer, and had sighed. “It’s just a side effect I can’t help. Means the conversation is going well.”

“Do your practice conversations ever go poorly?” Alistair had pried.

“If they do,” she’d replied, “I just erase them and try again. Better, and better, until one makes me smile.”

_She had smiled then. Like our conversation was going well._

He didn’t know why he did that. Always asking more questions, always teasing, but maybe it was because she always rewarded him. Eilwyn smiled for him, laughed for him, even when his jokes were so deplorable he blushed as he was saying them. She was always so expressive…

Except for now. When she wasn’t.

The way they had climbed into the boat was less than ideal. Alistair had sat himself at the back of the boat with Leliana, who was watching Eilwyn with just as much pensive worry as he was. It afforded him way too much time to think, to just worry these thoughts to the bone. He felt unproductive, and kind of trapped. It only amplified how bad Eilwyn must feel, which started the cycle all over again.

Alistair was still sitting there, fuming quietly, feeling impotent and mulling over practice conversations of his own, when the rain started.

His first instinct was to look up into the sky, as if he couldn't trust that it was raining unless it fell onto his face. When the drops indeed fell in a speckle across the bridge of his nose, uneven and misty, it felt oddly familiar.

_“Look Alistair… look at the way it bounces off the pond! … come sit with me!”_

A memory, sudden and sweet, flashed briefly in his mind’s eye. When they were traveling in the Korcari Wilds, they’d been caught in a quick downpour. Eilwyn had sat on a log as the others pressed onward, scanning the perimeter. Alistair had come over to her, asked her if she was okay, and she had confessed that in the Circle when it rained, they'd always kept her inside. She had a fascination with how water looked on water for that very reason.

“You don’t have bathtubs in the Circle?” he’d teased. “Sprinkle your wet fingers over top, you get the same effect.”

“It’s not the same,” Eilwyn had retorted. But instead of a tired bite, one that a lot of people gave him, Eilwyn’s voice had held laughter. “There's something about how it comes from the sky, from so high above, that just feels surreal. Like it's rejoining its family."

She'd blushed, then. She'd looked away, like she felt stupid.

"It also smells different," she had stated, and even then Alistair had been able to catch that she was looking to be taken seriously. Her tone had been prim, quipped. "Everything gets so rich and clean and earthy. Don’t you think so, ser?”

“You’re going to be a Warden, you know,” Alistair had said, kind of stuttering past his smile. “Same as me. No need to call me ser.”

Eilwyn had looked up at him with those bright blue eyes, looking a little confused.

“Oh. J-just Alistair, then?”

“Yes,” he’d chuckled. “Just Alistair.”

“Look Alistair,” she’d said immediately, turning back to the water. “Just look at the way it bounces off the pond! Oh, you simply _must_  think that’s pretty.”

“Yeah? I mean, I guess?”

To him, the water had just been muddy and stagnant, and the smells were of clay and loam. He hadn’t really… gotten it. Not back then, anyway.

“We have a moment, right?” she’d asked, and had turned to look for the other recruits. “Just for a minute, come sit with me!”

_Even then… even in the wilds, she was so happy to just explore. To just… exist._

The rain started full force, and as Alistair lifted his shield up he noticed Eilwyn looking back at them all. She seemed to be checking to make sure they were still there, like she was worried they’d disappear if she didn’t confirm their whereabouts.

“Here, Leliana,” he muttered, feeling strangely shy under the casual scrutiny. “Come here.”

Leliana leaned onto his shoulder, and it was not as comfortable as it was when Eilwyn did it. Leliana seemed stiff, suspicious, even as she was grateful.

“You are getting rained on,” she commented, and Alistair gave a little laugh as Eilwyn turned away.

“Yeah, seems like it,” he agreed.

“Are you certain this is alright for you?” Leliana asked. “Your arm will get tired.”

“You can help hold it, if you want,” he teased. “Although it would kind of defeat the chivalry of it all, don’t you agree?”

Instead of laughing, Leliana sighed and brought her hands up to help. Alistair clenched his jaw, trying not to feel bad that it had fallen flat.

When Eilwyn took off her cloak, Alistair could feel his jaw tighten further. He scanned around for something to do, anything he could do to help her.

Did nobody else notice this? She was just sitting there, her eyes closed, her face turned to the sky, looking like one of those statues of the women on fire that died from a broken heart. It damn near broke _his_ heart to see, and he couldn’t tell how the others could stand it.

Desperate, Alistair kneed Sten hard in the back of the hip.

The Qunari turned to look at him, eyes sharp and annoyed.

Alistair made a point of looking at Sten, then glancing to Eilwyn, then back to Sten very explicitly. He cleared his throat, gestured upwards with his shield, as if to illustrate what Sten should be doing. Sten paused, then nodded curtly.

For a minute, Alistair breathed a sigh of terse relief. Until Sten lifted his shield and held it over Wynne’s head.

“Thank you, dear,” Wynne muttered. “I’ll cast something stronger once I recover for a moment. My apologies.”

“You fought well, I heard,” Sten said, and Alistair rolled his eyes and barely withheld a groan of annoyance.

“Hey,” Leliana protested, pushing up on his shield with a bit more force than was necessary.

“Oh, sorry.”

Alistair had let his shield arm drop, clearly distracted, and he raised it back up to keep it from dumping water onto the redhead at his side. He cleared his throat once, then twice, and then finally kicked Sten square in the back.

The Qunari turned with an expression of such cool neutrality that it was somehow more frightening than the irritation he’d displayed before. Alistair shrank back out of instinct, but then he saw Eilwyn past his shoulder.

Shivering. She was shivering, Maker’s breath, at this rate she was going to catch her death of cold.

Reaching down with his free hand, Alistair grabbed Sten’s pack and tossed it to the Qunari a bit roughly. Without even bothering to be subtle, he pointed at the pack, then at Eilwyn, then at Sten. His face must have been ridiculous, animated and stern, because Leliana suppressed a giggle at his side.

Sten glanced back to Eilwyn, and finally seemed to understand. He rummaged in the pack one-handed, keeping the shield above Wynne as he did so, and then found his blanket. He held it up as if to check with Alistair that this was the correct item.

Alistair threw his head back, then nodded in complete exasperation.

_She’s already soaked, I mean why bother, at this point._

Sten nodded as well. Then, without even shaking the blanket out, he threw it at Eilwyn’s shoulders.

Leliana gave a stifled laugh at the shocked noise Eilwyn made, and Alistair gave an embarrassed wince. But then Eilwyn caught herself, fixing the blanket about her shoulders and head. She turned halfway, and Alistair couldn’t see, but he thought she smiled.

Sitting back, holding his shield a bit higher, he sighed.

_Well. It’s a start._

* * *

He could tell he was talking too much. It was like he could sense it, but he couldn’t stop it. When he got on a roll, when he got to where his audience gave him even the slightest encouragement, Alistair kind of just ran with it.

And honestly, it didn’t help that Eilwyn had sat by him just like he’d asked her to. She’d drank from his stein just like he’d asked her to. She’d even turned the mug so that her lips touched only where his had, a detail that was actually rather strange for him to notice. It made his cheeks burn to think about.

So he didn’t think. He talked.

Alistair talked, and as he did, he tested. She was sitting near him, yes, but would she let him make her laugh? Would she smile for him? He tried his best to look as if he didn’t care whether she was paying attention to him or not, but it was so hard not to. When he glanced over once, she was staring at him with those big, blue eyes.

Cat-like. If the cat was half-drowned, sad, and also very pretty.

He’d had to refocus after that, pretend like he hadn’t noticed how she was letting him touch her hand with his. Every subtle circle, every trace, shot adrenaline through his veins. He felt warm, not just from the mead. From her. She was close, and he was drawing her ever closer.

_When did I start touching her?_

_Not even just now… I mean… when did I start in general?_

_I think that maybe... she's always let me. It's always helped._

He watched her take another swallow of the sweet mead at his request, their hands straying from one another’s. As his fingers fell away from the stein, Alistair felt a strange twist of loneliness at the act. Like he wanted to reach out and connect their knuckles again.

What an odd desire! Hands brushing, pfft. That kind of touch didn’t even really _mean_ anything.

... did it?

Eilwyn set the mug back down, and when she swallowed, she gave a happy little sigh. Alistair almost didn’t catch it, what with the rain beating down steadily on the roof above and the way his companions were all chatting and eating around them. But then she looked up at him in the bright candlelight through her eyelashes, and Alistair knew he'd heard what he'd heard.

“So?” he asked.

He was smiling again, could feel the stupid smirk pulling at his lips just like he could feel his words spilling too freely. But he couldn't help it! Just looking at the expression on her face made him feel so warm. She looked like she wanted to open up, to be present. It was so close, _he_ was so close!

“Think this might be your new favorite thing?”

Eilwyn blinked, as if there was something in her eye she was just now noticing and getting rid of. Her expression was… hard to read, at best. Nothing, at worst. If Alistair had to guess, it looked frightened. Worried maybe? Not uncomfortable, but like she’d seen a spider come dangerously close to landing in her stew.

_Not good._

She shrugged at him, her eyes fleeing his, and then she said nothing else for the rest of the dinner. He tried to get her back, to look at him, to lean on him, to say something. But it was useless.

Oh, he’d mucked it up.

He had for sure.

_Damn it._

* * *

“Think she’ll be okay by morning?” Alistair asked Sten later that night.

Sten was busy giving hand signals to McWhistle, and did not look up to where Alistair was rearranging his armor for the third time by the fire. As for the mabari, McWhistle was so actively ignoring them both that Alistair had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what Sten wanted and was just being contrary.

“Eilwyn, I mean,” Alistair insisted, hanging his armor over the chair closest to the fire.

“You are going to singe your gauntlets that way,” Sten stated.

“Fine, here, then,” he sighed, readjusting the chair a fraction further. “Can you answer me?”

“I cannot,” Sten said, making a fist and then drawing it to the right. McWhistle cocked his head, then raised a paw. “This does not mean shake,” Sten grumbled. “It means flank to your left.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because,” the Qunari sighed. “I do not know, and it matters not what I think regardless.”

“Well you could at least pretend to conjecture, for my sake.” Alistair paused. “Also, what do you mean, of course it matters!”

“Why?” he stood, moving to the couch where he began to lay out a blanket.

"I care about what you think."

"Why."

"It's how people bond with others," Alistair sighed. "Work with me here."

“It is simple, and not a point up for debate," Sten said. "She has experienced something that has obviously traumatized her."

"Yes," Alistair said, narrowing his eyes.

_Where is he going with this?_

"If she cannot recover from this, then she cannot defeat the Blight. If she cannot defeat the Blight, she is useless to our cause. However. If she can overcome this, then she will, and she will not be useless.” Sten sniffed. "That's it."

Alistair had a grimace frozen to his face.

“You’ve reduced it to either _feel_ or _don’t feel_ , you do realize that, don’t you?”

“Besides those two options, there is nothing else. Given her track record, I would suggest she merely cut off the feelings for now. Just be rid of them altogether, as would befit a Grey Warden."

Alistair frowned.

_What do you know about Wardens?_

Sten seemed to notice Alistair's discomfort. He sighed.

"Right now I would guess there is a fifty-fifty chance that Eilwyn will be okay by morning. Happy?”

“Yes, but… but no,” Alistair began to pull quilts from the wardrobe in the corner and started to pile them on the bed. McWhistle, thinking he was playing, jumped up and between them with every throw. “People don’t just feel one way about things. Or two ways about things. There’s a lot that can go into this-”

“I disagree,” Sten said simply, no malice in his words. “It is merely a part of growing up. She will do it, because she is a Grey Warden. Or she will not, and we will have to find a new leader. Someone with more training.”

“I disagree with you disagreeing, on sheer principle, since you can’t just end a discussion that way. But also because you don’t know her like I do,” Alistair said. “Or even… let’s think beyond Eilwyn for a moment, just think about people in general.”

Sten gave a sigh, but did not stop him. In fact, he crossed his wrists over his knee and trained Alistair with a patient, if not tired, gaze.

“There are many ways to feel things,” Alistair said. “Sometimes you think you’re okay, and you’re not. Could be a day. Could be years. And then suddenly, _bam_ , you’re hurting just like when the wound was fresh.”

Sten frowned, still saying nothing, and Alistair gave a little frustrated growl.

“Okay, say that you get a tingle in your toe, it hurts, you can’t ignore it, and it starts to impact your fighting. You find a splinter. Regret and grief is like that splinter. You either work it out, even though it hurts to do it and you might need help, with care and time and a pair of tweezers-”

Sten narrowed his eyes from the couch.

“Sorry, look, it’s not a _great_ metaphor. Just, just roll with it,” Alistair sighed. “You can take it out, patch that wound up, option one. Option one takes a lot of time. Or, you can let it grow over, hope it doesn’t get infected, get used to the soreness that just… sticks. That’s option two, and sometimes it works, sometimes it just makes option one _harder_. Or, apparently we have a third option, which is what you’re suggesting: just cut the whole damn toe off and move on with your life. Because of a splinter!”

“I said nothing about toes,” Sten said.

“You didn’t have to,” Alistair muttered. “Just… for me, just for tonight, so I can sleep… will you tell me that Eilwyn’s going to be okay in the morning?”

“Fine,” Sten said. “She will be okay in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

“And the archdemon is going to want a lullaby as you slay it. Does this help you, to hear nonsense? I do not see the merit in such rituals before bed.”

Alistair sighed.

“You know, now that you mention it,” he muttered, “neither do I.”

* * *

He was back at Arl Eamon’s, and everyone was awake and sitting about for a meal. Peoples’ faces were very vague, even though they seemed to be viewed through a warped glass that made them look up-close and bulbous if Alistair focused in on any one of them for too long a time period.

They were eating something sweet. Strawberries? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t particularly want it. There was something missing, he knew that much. Something he was looking for. Another food? No, less tangible. A song? There was a lute playing, so that could be it. No, it was something else entirely, something missing and so far beyond what was around him that his mind just couldn’t conjure it. The more he tried, the more his brain seemed to fog up, like breathing on a mirror.

Something hit his shoulder, and he closed his eyes against the force. When he opened them, he was no longer in Redcliffe. The room was dark and smelled like cedar, and he didn’t recognize where he was.

“Wake up.”

_Something’s happened_.

“Ugh,” Alistair groaned, figuring he must still be dreaming. He tried to shake off the deep lethargy unsuccessfully and his brain said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m up, I’m up.”

What a strange thing to even dream about. He wasn’t even that fond of strawberries, if he was being honest. They were such fancy little fruits, thinking they’re so good, always marching in on other desserts when they-

_Wait, who’s there?_

He blinked, his eyes adjusting a bit in the dark. There was a figure by his bed, and it smelled… good. Was that strange of him to notice? The soap was different than the one he used, that was all, it was more-

“Eilwyn?” he whispered.

He had to stop himself from reaching out in the dark. If he was dreaming, if he was sleep-talking, he did not want to know what Sten would think of such a thing. But then the figure in front of him made a noise. A little sniffle, then a stammer, like it was struggling to get out words.

_Oh no._

It was Eilwyn. He’d know those noises anywhere. Adrenaline coursed through him, rousing him further. He was still caught in fuzzy sleep, but he shook free of it enough to gain some wits about himself.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, blindly holding out his hand in the dark. “We gotta go? Something bad?”

_Did we really kill Uldred? Is he back, did the mages need our help-_

“No,” she whispered, and she actually leaned forward. He could feel her hand at his shoulder, and Alistair thought he would melt at the touch. Her hands were cold, but the cool touch was refreshing. As if he’d had a fever, and she’d soothed it with her fingertips. “No, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

She left her hand on his chest for a moment, her fingernails trailing over his muscles as she moved to his sternum. Half-asleep, he felt a moan catch at his throat. 

_I didn't expect this._

He could feel sleep tugging steadily at his feet like an anchor. He forced his eyes open, even though they shut almost immediately after he did so. As if his eyelids were weighted shutters, preventing them from moving.

“No, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.” He stifled a yawn. “I’m already up.”

He thought he heard her laugh, and automatically smiled in the darkness.

_If this is a dream, I'd gladly stay asleep._

“It’s just…”

He heard her stop, hesitating in the dim light of the fire, and then her words burst forth in a stilted, halting mess.

“I didn’t want to sleep alone, and I thought-”

_She… what?_

At first, the idea that she wanted to sleep near him was too much to process. It sounded unreal, like what you heard about around the fire when men were boasting about their conquests.

The others had talked like that sometimes, back when he'd first joined the Grey Wardens. Alistair had listened, perturbed by how often women just seemed to throw themselves in the night at random boors. He’d listened, and wondered if the stories were true.

And now it was happening?

No. He didn’t want this, it wasn’t right. His heart beat out a quick pump of adrenaline, waking him immediately as his mind raced. Alistair closed his eyes tight, then opened them again, trying to see more clearly by the light of the embers.

It wasn't that Eilwyn wasn't-

_amazing_

-perfectly fine as a person. But this kind of situation didn't appeal to him. He’d never envied the men who told tales of essentially being kidnapped in the kitchen larders and being forced to have their way right there against the wall. Such an act should be different, it should be softer, it should-

_Wait… Slow down._

_She's not asking what you think she's asking._

_At least, I don't think she is?_

Alistair’s dreamlike thoughts, his panicked reasoning, faded. He allowed himself to think calmly about this, to remember back further. Weeks? Months? When was it? He thought back to Eilwyn’s first taint-ridden nightmare.

_That was it._

He’d been awake at camp to watch her thrash, and she had looked so absolutely relieved to see him there when she woke up. To talk with him afterwards. Those dreams were horrifying, you felt so trapped and so exposed, all at the same time! So when her breathing had slowed, she’d crawled over to him. He had called her cute- no, she’d _let_ him call her cute. And when she’d tried to curl up at his side so that she didn’t have to sleep alone, he’d grown awkward and mucky and made her feel strange for even asking.

_She hadn’t wanted to trap me into something… indecent._

_She was lonely._

Now here she was, again. Asking to sleep by his side, again. Seeking his particular brand of tactless comfort, again.

And here he was, about to refuse her. Again.

_What does she even see in a friend like me?_

“I’m sorry,” Eilwyn whispered, her voice a low hiss. “It’s so stupid.”

She must be reacting to his hesitance, he should never have mulled it over this long. He’d made a mistake before, of reacting poorly and pushing her back at arm’s length. But things were different now, right? She’d kissed his cheek, held his hand, straddled him and asked him to yield.

_And I want to._

“Hey,” Alistair said, his voice a bit gruffer than he’d meant for it to be.

He reached his right arm out across the pillow towards where he thought she was, and the stretch felt so good that he decided to run with it. He pulled his arms high over his head for a second, and tightened his legs out until he could feel McWhistle’s fur on his calves. The mabari gave a huff, snuggling between his ankles like a giant, fluffy sock.

“It’s not…”

_It’s not that I don’t want you here._

“That’s not stupid,” he finished lamely.

Why had he turned her away before? It had been partial surprise, and then self-conscious awkwardness.

He hated that. He didn’t like the idea of making her feel uncomfortable around him, not when they only really had each other to rally together and fight against the Blight. They faced so much death, so many trials, the least he could try to do was make her days easier. And her nights as well, apparently.

So why had he turned her away, before?

_It had seemed like the thing a gentleman should do, at the time._

Was it that easy, though? Allowing a scared girl to feel protected was gentlemanly, right? Giving her some body heat so that she didn’t have to shiver in the cold, lonely room of an unfamiliar inn was still a noble thing to do, right? And it wasn’t as if it was difficult to want to hold her closer; in fact, it was instictive. Alistair found himself actively fighting against the urge more often than not.

_I just want to make sure my intentions remain unclouded. She deserves to trust that I won’t… that I don’t think about her… like that._

But he did think of her like that, and that was what scrunched up his insides like an ogre clamping down on him. The way she had kissed his cheek, the way she’d straddled him with that snowball high above her head, the way her hands had held his mother’s amulet, like it was a precious baby egg to be protected before handing it over…

_I want her. But… I shouldn’t._

_Shouldn’t I?_

Eilwyn gave a little hitched breath, muffled by the blanket, and Alistair knew this was no time for musing. He had to give her an answer. Much as he hated to think of it in Sten terms, he had two choices.

Say no, send her back to her room alone, and pray she worked the splinter out on her own. Or say yes, and be there for her if she needed an extra set of hands prying it loose.

_She either will, or she won’t._

_If she can’t, and I didn’t help when I could, then can I really call myself her friend?_

Alistair sighed and leaned up, pulling the corner of the blanket open for her.

He lay back, eyes closed, and drifted lazily between sleep and awake for a blissful moment. He could tell she hadn’t left because of the way she made that tiny noise. The one that sounded like a whine, almost, but softer.

It was her thinking noise.

Alistair doubted she knew she even did it, but he recognized it immediately. It made him stupidly happy to hear it; it meant she wasn’t shut down like she had been at dinner. She was feeling things again, she was letting them churn about in her brain a bit. That was a good sign.

“You don’t want to sleep alone, right?” he asked, opening an eye to check and see if she was still there.

She was, looking forlorn and helpless. She must have bathed, because her hair looked wet at the ends even in the dwindling light of the embers from the fireplace. He couldn’t really tell what she was thinking, not from this angle, but then he saw her shake her head.

_Me neither. She has to realize that I don’t want to either, right?_

“Well,” he said carefully, trying not to allow pleasure to tint his voice, “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

_I mean, I just wouldn’t mind having someone close._

_Grief is hard, magelet._

_Did… did I say that out loud?_

“Can’t promise you won’t have nightmares, though,” he muttered, hoping that if he kept talking, he wouldn’t accidentally blurt what he was thinking. If he deliberately spouted nonsense, it would keep the more serious implications at bay. At least for now. “The bed smells like dog. Nightmare dog.”

_Maker’s breath, are you an idiot?!_

Right as Alistair was about to apologize, or say something else to push his foot further in his mouth, he felt the mattress shift with her weight. Eilwyn sat on the edge, and then pulled her feet up. She let go of her blanket, and through the firelight that backlit her, Alistair could see how gauzy and thin her tunic was. The gap between her sleeve and her skin was translucent, like dragonfly wings. He could see the outline of her every muscle. Her scars, too.

Or maybe he was dreaming. He must have been dreaming.

He closed his eyes, deciding that yes, it was a dream. All of this was a dream, in fact. Eilwyn was not there, not really. He had conjured her and her smell and her cool fingers up, because he was lonely and she was his friend. He was still in Redcliffe, about to find whatever it was he was looking so hard for.

_If I think about it hard enough, maybe it’ll be true._

“The… the blanket’s stuck,” Eilwyn whispered, drawing Alistair back to reality.

He forced himself to accept that yes, she was here. Even though he was one still heartbeat away from slipping back into dreamland, for now this Eilwyn was here and definitely not an apparition.

_Even though she’s wearing too sheer a tunic to be real, I mean seriously, has she had that this whole time and I never noticed? How could I have not noticed a thing like that?_

Alistair gave a sigh, then sat upright. Pulling the blanket free of her legs-

_They’re bare, why are they bare, Maker take me, is she wearing pants at all?_

-he managed to get her tucked in. He patted her shoulders down a bit forcefully, maybe too forcefully, for he feared a gentle touch would be inappropriate. He didn’t want this to be… anything, really.

It was the truth, even if it made him a fool.

He liked how they were. If he let his mind run rampant, or his thoughts escape him, it would change them, and not for the better. He liked how comfortable they were together, he and the magelet, and he did not want to ruin it because he couldn’t get ahold of himself over some fabric. He was better than that. And a beautiful girl like her, she didn’t deserve some arse drooling over her every time she was silhouetted just so.

As Eilwyn and McWhistle got comfortable with their new sleeping arrangements, Alistair turned towards the wall and ruminated. He could tell that Eilwyn fell asleep quickly; she moved constantly until she passed out, whether she realized it or not. The only sign Eilwyn was deeply asleep was when she stopped fidgeting finally. She had gone very still, only the sound of her breathing cluing him in to the fact that she was still there at all.

When he was sure she was out, Alistair let out a long, slow breath.

He’d seen Eilwyn in a different light today. So much of who she was, it had been explained as they fought their way through the Circle. Her love, rebuked so often because of the magic she embodied, had absolutely nowhere to go. It bounced around her fingers like those firefly lights whenever she got nervous, bounced around inside of her so much that she smiled as she practiced polite conversations.

No wonder she was so kind to others; she didn’t want anyone to feel as excluded as she did.

All of the important people in her life so far had spurned her. Cast her aside, because of something she couldn’t help. Her mother. Her father. First Enchanter. That Cullen.

_I know the feeling all too well. It never gets easier, being passed off. No matter how kind the people are that you’ve been passed off to._

How many others were there? How many idiots existed in the world, that could not see Eilwyn Amell for the true hero she was?

_Hopefully no more._

But even though he’d seen her past, more of it than maybe she was comfortable with him having seen… it hadn’t changed a thing. She was here, wasn’t she? Still innocent. Still caring. Still herself.

She gave a little moan in her sleep, pressing her back against his more fully. Alistair shuddered. She was so cold, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and envelop her in his arms. He could warm her so easily. If only it weren’t indecent of him to even consider such a thing.

The thought alone made him feel ashamed. It felt like taking advantage of her vulnerability, to take pleasure in her closeness. Alistair sighed into his pillow, cursing his mind for even bringing it up in the first place.

_Maybe she wants me to hold her, though? She is pressing into me, after all. Should I…?_

No. Eilwyn wouldn’t want that.

_Okay, that's one thing. But honestly… I worry that she wouldn’t want to tell me if she didn’t._

_I worry she would be too nice to turn me down._

And Alistair knew he couldn’t fault her for it if she couldn’t. When she had past friendships like the one blood mage who she’d released from the prison, and then the violent Templar who had essentially likened her to a demon? If that was all of the friendships she had to go off of? Pffeh! It was easy to see why she apologized so much.

_Has she ever been in a place where she could just be herself?_

_Like, fully be herself. The way she is with…_

_Hmm._

_Is she even herself with me?_

Eilwyn hadn’t had time to make friends outside the Circle. She’d been thrown into the Joining, and into accompanying him on the run-around Duncan had set for him. She’d had no chance to truly be a Grey Warden, Alistair realized. The thought was accompanied with a stab of brutal regret.

Oh, they would have loved her! She would have been immensely popular at the dinner table, what with the way her laugh was so free and clear. Everyone would have fought to impress her, telling stories over each other and flexing to get her attention. Everyone would have made her feel as precious as she deserved to feel, had they survived long enough to meet her.

Alistair clenched his jaw at the thought. He was getting better at suppressing the pain that came with such things, getting better at poking the wound without opening it up again completely.

_Think about Eilwyn again. That will help._

In the field, she would have been the one doing the impressing. Alistair fantasized that he would have pulled her aside to train with the warriors, to fight close-quarters. She would have knocked him on his arse, Alistair was certain. When she got tired of fighting with her fists, she’d practice with other mages. Such skilled mages as the ones that the Wardens had recruited would have honed her abilities like a paperthin dagger, and she would have loved getting a chance to truly unleash her power.

Not like in the Circle. Not like how it must have been with people like Cullen watching her every move and judging her for it. Alistair knew, Eilwyn would have exceled at everything they could have set before her in the freedom of the open world. No doubt in his mind. Had she been a Warden with the rest of them, she would have been happier than she was now.

_I can’t imagine what she’s going through. How alone she must feel._

And yet, she didn’t really talk about that, did she? She hadn’t talked about the Circle, more than to say it had been her home and she had been taken there very young. She hadn’t railed against it, or whined about it, or even said she’d missed it. Beyond crying on him the first time they’d met, Eilwyn had been the stronger of the two of them, Alistair thought.

_She hasn’t had an easy time of it… and I’ve just complained. About Duncan, about my mother’s amulet… Maker take me, why did I say those things, when she’d lost just as much? Maybe more?_

Alistair felt an arm at his side. He froze in place, his thoughts broken apart like a wave on a shore, and fading away just as quickly. He was awake now, had possibly been asleep before, dreaming all of those tangents about Eilwyn and Wardens and something about strawberries. But he knew he was awake now, because he could distinctly feel Eilwyn’s soft, even breathing against his shoulderblade through his shirt. He could feel warmth all along the back of his body, in fact, such a soft comfort that he scarcely dared to move.

_Must be still dreaming._

He turned to have a look, and sure enough, Eilwyn was curled up along the length of him. Her knees were cupped behind his, her lap flush against his hips, her chest pressed tight to the center of his back. She lay there with one arm slung haphazardly across his ribs and the other supporting her head. At some point, Eilwyun had nuzzled her face against his shoulder, and was now breathing wetly. It was what had woken Alistair up, he realized.

Maker. He wanted to laugh so badly right then.

Eilwyn had obviously entered a very deep sleep state, to be unconscious in such a position. Her face was squished so that one cheek was pushed forward and out; her breathing was forced and gurgled because of the way her cheek pressed against one nostril; and, finally, her mouth was parted really enticingly. Alistair wanted to poke his finger at her tongue, just to see if it made her shut her mouth. Would she wake up coughing? Would she stick her tongue out further, maybe, like McWhistle did when Alistair poked _his_ tongue as he slept? Alistair laughed to himself, turning to try and do it.

As soon as his fingertip touched the edge of her lip, she flinched.

“Nngh, no,” she moaned. “Please.”

He froze, worried he’d upset her. Her breathing quickened, uneven huffs of breath that sounded so primal in the dark.

“H-help,” she begged him quietly. “Help me.”

“Hey,” Alistair soothed, immediately more than concerned. “Shh. Nothing’s wrong. You’re safe. Just a dream.”

“So… sorry,” she whispered to the room, to nobody.

Her body heaved, and she gave a sob, or a cry. He wasn’t sure which. It hit something within him, that protective instinct she always seemed to draw from him.

_Can’t I even give her this? Can’t she have one night, Andraste’s arse, if anyone deserves one night of rest it’s her!_

Alistair shushed her, reaching out with one hand to smooth her hair back away from her face. She was breathing heavily, as if terribly frightened, and he ran his fingers back through her tresses. He tucked them behind her ears, trying to caress away whatever bad dreams she was seeing.

“Shh, shh.”

_Just a kid._

She wasn’t that much younger than him, really, a thought that Alistair didn’t remember often enough. She seemed to be younger than she was because she was small, so short and squeaky. Her hair didn’t help, either. The way it was always in the way, the way she was constantly smoothing it up from her face, it lent her an air of being childlike.

But Alistair knew she wasn’t. Not all the time, anyway.

She was also fierce, a force to be reckoned with. She was their leader, brave and ridiculously polite and surprisingly stubborn. The true embodiment of ‘kill them with kindness’. He had half a mind that she would nicely ask the Archdemon to just please die, and the blighted thing would not be able to refuse her.

Eilwyn shook beneath his hands, reliving something, or perhaps just finally letting her emotions free in her sleep. Alistair could see her eyes twitching, he knew she was seeing something invisible to the rest of the world, something private and terrifying. She whispered something he didn’t catch, some nonsense, and his heart broke for her.

Alistair recalled how she’d reacted when he’d cried at Flemeth’s. She had cried too, naturally. She just… did that, it seemed, when she got overwhelmed.

But she had also squeezed him, hard. She’d reached up, pulled him into a hug, and had comforted him that way. The first hug he’d received in months. And she’d given it so freely, as if it didn't bother her at all to press into his space.

Alistair had tried it with her the next few times she’d faltered or grown anxious. It always seemed to work for her, too, as a coping mechanism. To be squeeezed.

Now, lying in bed together, he knew what he had to do. Before he could think better of it, Alistair gathered Eilwyn roughly against his chest, turning to embrace her as she dreamt.

Immediately, Eilwyn quieted. She sighed once, so deeply and completely that Alistair himself felt his chest expand along with hers, and then she stilled.

Alistair rested his stubbled jaw as gently as he could against her brow until it began to relax. Her hands found his shoulders, and she clung to him as her even exhales tickled his collarbone. She nuzzled into the curve of his neck, pressing fully against him, her ankle twining with his, and for once, he knew he’d made the right decision.

_I hope it helps._

Eilwyn shifted, pressing herself more fully along his length and drawing a wistful gasp from his lips. It felt so nice, her shifting along his body, so sleepy and warm and cuddly. For a moment Alistair wondered if she was as awake as he was, since she was moving. But then her soft breathing by his jugular answered that for him. She was asleep, moving in a dream, clutching at his body out of instinct.

It was strange, feeling relief wash through him at the thought.

_I’m not ashamed I just…_

_It’s not appropriate, right? To… hold her?_

Swallowing hard, Alistair pulled away to look at Eilwyn in the dark. Nuzzled against his shoulder, her mouth still ajar, she was out cold. A tiny string of drool was forming at the corner of her lips as she slept, and Alistair laughed despite himself.

_Our elegant Lady Amell. Ever classy._

He leaned forward, one arm beneath her cheek and being drooled on, the other hand at her temple. Alistair smoothed back her hair and planted a kiss firmly on her forehead, hoping it would affect her dreams in a positive light. Maybe she would dream of a dinner party next, one where every Warden was fighting for her attention. Duncan would be there, of course, lauding her for how well she’d done with some treaties or other. And Alistair knew he’d be there at her side, catching whatever rays of light shone off of her if he got the chance.

A memory. A dream, maybe? Of Eilwyn holding his hand, looking up at him, desperate and strong and inspiring.

_“Do you think if you and I were to both survive this... that I would ever leave your side again?”_

She gave a little moan, softer this time, not afraid. Her hand at his shoulder slide underneath of his arm, over his chest. She trailed her fingers along the center of his sternum, up and over his heart, and Alistair’s breathing caught in his throat. He leaned into her, his body exhausted and seeking hers almost not of his own volition, and Eilwyn inhaled deeply. Her lips moved at his throat, not in a kiss, just as she slept. Her movements were heavy, clouded, not conscious- but they did the trick regardless.

Pulling away, Alistair realized belatedly that his body was beginning to respond to Eilwyn’s close proximity. He disentangled his ankles from hers, pulling his hips back instinctively away from hers. Her shirt was so thin, her body cradled languidly in his arms, her chest against his-

_I can’t do this._

_Not like this._

_Not to her._

Alistair pushed Eilwyn off of him, rolling her to her side abruptly. McWhistle gave an unceremonious grunt of disapproval from where he lay at her other side, but Eilwyn was too far asleep to protest. She merely smacked her lips twice, then presumably began to drool on the mabari instead.

Alistair scooted away from the space in the center of the bed, feeling debauched. He’d only kissed her temple, why did he… why was it…?

_This is not the time to get hard!_

Flustered and feeling like his body had betrayed him during what was only supposed to be a tender moment, Alistair heaved a great sigh. She deserved better than this, Eilwyn did. She was looking for a friend, and friends did _not_ get hard-ons while their friends were in the middle of a nightmare!

_You meathead. How are you different than those men around the fire, then?_

As he lay there, contemplating human biology and wondering vaguely about whether or not girls also had urges like this come and go, Alistair made a decision. He grabbed his pillow from behind his head and placed it between himself and Eilwyn. In her sleep, if she snuggled against it, at the very least she could feel respected and separated from him. If, in his sleep, he woke up… _uncomfortable_ , it would offer her a barrier from that until he could make himself decent.

Sighing deeply, Alistair looked up at the inn’s ceiling. For all the night’s drama, it was still incredibly nice having Eilwyn so close to him. She just… fit. It was hard to explain. Having her close was better than having her far, even if he did feel like his every nerve ending was more alert to her presence.

Instead of dwelling on anything further, Alistair simply relaxed into the mattress and let his emotions wash over him. He had a tune stuck in his mind, a little song he’d heard in another language that he didn’t know the words for, and he played the chorus over and over again in his mind. Eventually it, paired with the rain pouring down outside, lulled him back to sleep.

Alistair dreamed of sweetness. It was vague, but nice. The nagging of looking for something gradually faded from his mind.

When he turned in the night to get more comfortable, he could feel Eilwyn shift even from beyond the pillow, her movements in sync with his through some small, subconscious connection. It made him smile down into his forearm as he got settled, and he drifted in and out of consciousness with that blissful expression still on his face.  



End file.
